ARTLOVE

Mistress Tongall, you are delighting your self with these new erections. Indeed they are fair ones, and their uniformity adds much to their beauty. Pray which is Sir Generous Worthy's house? I have seen her beauty, and her nimble eyes Have shot a fire into me, that inflame is My cold desires. I that have resisted the assaults of passion to a perfect conquest; And called it (justly too) the height of folly To give that wanton Power the attribute Of a false Deity: I, that have outgone the example of Zenocrates, am captived; But by a Beauty, such as would review Heat in the frozen bosom of and Anchorite, Who hath spent his age even to decrepitness In such austerities as would mortify The strongest pampered wantonness. I cove A good success, but fail in't. Never yet Could I be blessed with opportunity To show her my desires, and to try The fortune of persuasion. Should I be fortunate in my attempts To win her liking; should my person please her, Or that annexion to my better partly Of education, yet the disparity Betwixt our states, checks me from hoping That the design can prosper. The lighter fire Near mixeth with the earth, but to confusion: Or from their several nature's bringing forth Events prodigious. But simple honesty Clad in the naked livery of truth Is a most glorious virtue, that preserves White innocence unstained with falsehood. Good means as well as good intention Must make and act good. Let those that study mischief To satisfy their sensualties Practice such wickedness. I'de not abuse A noble goodness to possess the Indies. Thy old humour still friend. I shall be ready to serve him. Yes, to disease it. Yes, I confess it; where there is and union Of loving hearts, the joy exceed's expression. That love is virtuous whose desires do never End in their satisfaction, but increase Towards the object. When a beauteous frame Garnished with all the lustre of perfection Invite's the eye, and tells the searching thoughts It holds a richer mind, with which my soul Would rather mix her faculties. But you must not fallen out with the Gentlewoman. Adieu Mistress Tongall. What serious affair have they together? Those words create a hell of torment in me. Is there no love But what's attended by vain jealousy! Yes, passionately. My dreamings, wakings, thoughts and actions Are nothing but desire. See where my comforts Sun Breaks through a cloud. O that this unkind distance Might be contracted into lesser air: I'de then convey my whispers to her ears; And teach her understanding what delight Society hath in it. Blessed accident; Why do you stop my hast? let me embrace it. Thus with religious worship do I kiss What your white hand hath hallowed. Would! she's gone What envious mischief intercepts the means Of my desired happiness! or have mine eyes Wasted their beams in gazing on the place Where I first saw her, to imagination Fancying her figure. Where are the powers of my intellect? Reason and understanding have forsaken Their proper seats, and left strong passion To triumph over this captived Microcosm. It was my happiness, and 'twould be much in creased, if I might kiss the hand that wore it. May I be bold to enter with you? My behaviour shall deserve your good opinion. Does she love me? what greater secret Hath Nature in her Works then sympathy! I do conceive a thousand found expressions, Which throng so fast, they choke the passage up, That none can find and issue. I cannot answer her; my heart is big With other thoughts; which till I am delivered of, I suffer torments. Take it, But not t'abuse the others innocence. While I with sighs draw in the unwilling air Which she perfumed at distance. Aid me love, wit and fate; that my desires Burn not themselves without her equal fires. As far as my power will extend to expression. How on a sudden my resolves are numbed, And frozen into silence, that confirms The first distrust of my known indeservings, I dare not speak. Well Lady! yes. Health it self Is a disease in others, if compared With the absolute state of mine. Where you are present Sickness can have no power over frailty. The b ames which you bright e es shoot, purify That most infectious air . Your words distil A B l re more pr cious then that Miracle The Chemics worser eame of. At distance I have ften seen your beauty; And thence received a fire, whose quickening flames Did animate my soul, that else was earthy, A lump of passive dulness; now it's active: And if you please to cherish it, shall pay All it's derivative abilities Unto your lowest service. She mocks me sure. This gross flattery, Lady, Commends your wit, rather then your good nature. My heart is a plain heart, and my desires Are truly virtuous, not to be contemned. I would first kiss your hand. How glorious shows heaven with trembling lights Sparkling their distant beams! The full orbed Moon Born on nights dewy wings, rides in her Sphere; And throws the shine which from her brother's rays. She borrows to illuminate the earth Through thinner air, where no condensed vapours Are interposed to let her piercing eye From seeing that which she gives sighed to. Yet My heart is wrapped in clouds of leaden sadness. Love is not that in me which others feign it. I dream not of delights; my busy fancy Presents no fabulous heaven. A hell of torment Darken's my mind's bright faculties; and reason suffers it self to be eclipsed by passion. Oft have these instruments of heavens influence Seen my contemplative watchings; When with profound and and unwearied search I have scanned the causes of their great effects; And waded through the most inscrutable secrets Both of the mediate and immediate nature But coming once to read a Woman's face, There were so many heavens, that every thought In me, required a several understanding, To give each several grace a several name, And definition. The Chaos and the earth were loves first Parents; And yet the child did give the Parents form. What Riddles are in nature! Man's a disordered Mass, a mere confusion Of rude, inanimate sense and understanding. Until inspired with loves diviner soul. The sense is tired, unless it vary's objects. Knowledge would be finite, were not the mind Delighted with diversity. But love's a subject for eternal study; And one fair book preserved so, a full library. What fabulous errors learning is attended with! Plato's five World's; their sempiternity; Pythagoras transmigration; and opinions Judgement would blush to father. But a woman, Did men contemplate such a one as I do, They Make her all those World's: and then include All the famed excellence of former beauty's In her more perfect frame. Murder a Gentleman the voice came thence. I'll rescue him, though danger and destruction Met me with open mouths. Villains, desist. That's to reward it sir; from which base ends Good actions should be free. I'de gladly hear A short relation of the Accident. If you are the son of Sir Generous Worthy. Your modesty is too severe In your restraint from praising her pure excellence, Which should be Poets study; not with fiction, And common figures, but diviner attributes: Then they must call it nothing but it self. The Subject's weight would make a Poem weighty; And take away the imputation Which seeming solidness would throw upon't Of a light fancy. He were a Devil did not love such goodness. It is the only virtue: frailty boasts of, To love fair sensual objects: but my soul Hath noted inward beauty in her mind, Which makes me glory (though it be presumption) That I do love her. Your Riddle needs some Oedipus to solve it. What base suspicion Poisons his jealous thoughts! It's injury Beyond all patience. Dare not deny it! Were thy hands armed with Thunder; Hadst thou a Gorgons look, were't not her Brother, Ringed in the terror of a thousand Jibbets And executioners, I have a point Should find thy heart out. Your speech, Sir, Savours of strange severity. My honour Is that partly of my self, without which The man that's in me can have no subsisting. Honour's the greatest of exterior goods, And must be still pursued as the reward Endue unto virtue, through the greatest dangers. Yet fortitude is not the appetite Of formidable things, nor inconsult Rashness; but virtue fighting for a truth; Derived from knowledge of distinguishing Good or bade causes. Think me not a Coward Because I am not rash: nor through defect Oh better counsel, do not resist the force Of will or passion; how soever your jealousy Proceeding from our better thoughts infection Hath been a provocation. And perhaps The love I bear your Sister, will appear Your chiefest safety. I must be honourable! Those words include a doubt works strangely in me. Love must not wrack my reputation. Sir, I begin to scan the circumstance, And construe your intention. You would try me: But your temptations have been too abusive. And now my resolution is prepared To do my credit justice. There's Magic in those words. What a profane breath from his black mouth flies, Would poison all the idolatrous religions That ever awed wicked mortals. He is not sure her brother, but some impostor, That only counterfeit's his worthier person, I could be patient at the lie, or Coward, Or any thing that can make passion violent. But her bright honour staind's a cause of justice To arm a Nation. Draw, if th'art a man; And with the plea of valour, (if th'ast any) Defend thy errors: Draw thy sword. Is my just anger mocked! love made ridiculous! Draw; lest I make my self and Executioner. And do and act of justice on thy gilded. I am confounded to amazement. We are bound to thank your readiness. The mercy of my Starts: but what event Their influence will direct, I cannot prophesy. re he be careful, he's a Cynic noter Of men and of their manners Good friend be mild; Temper thy passion here. Scandal may grow From low foundations to and height of infamy. Thou knowest my temperance does not oft frequent These public places. I pray no more, the subject is too harsh To make good music in society. Why then a health to her whose beauty's are Not a gross Earth, with painted superficies; But a more spright y Element of pure ire. Within whose Sphere a glorious M nde does move All the orbs of virtue with celestial flame. Whose active climbings carry her worser si es To the utmost height of nobleness and honour: To her that calls you Brother. Now Sir, it's yours. We are your servants. It's a blessed opportunity. We'll take the Bar our way. I am now animated To come the nearest way without more circumstance; And tell you how your beauty and your virtues Have wone on my desires to make them yours. It seems you did commend me! I must thank you Sir. How am I blessed that your white soul Hath bounded it's desires within the circuit Of my too narrow worth! Thy instruction and example will soon enable him that way. Prithee recall thy wonted goodness home, And with a virtuous scorn shake off this habit Of lose desires; it hath infection in it. What silent Gentleman's that? You teach me language which my self should use: But if my gratitude does seem to want Verbal expression, I had rather act Then promise what I owe you. How's this! why friend, did she not seem to come instructed (by direction) with embassy As to prepare my love? Lady, if any worth appear in me It must derive it's fullness from your liking: Had I in u ed into me all the excellence Of those Heroics whom the Poets feigned; Were I made up with all Perfections That Fiction ever painted, to express Desert in freshest colours; Unless you called it worth, 'twere but a subject For base contempt, though popular admiration Gav't divine Attributes. Since you commend The faculties your whiteness must dispose of— It is indeed a blessing, when the virtues Of noble Races are hereditary; And do derive themselves from the imitation Of virtuous Ancestors. You have a fair Sister. Yes, to and indignation, whose just heat Burns me almost to rage. But there are charms And spells about you conjure down my spirit. You are her Brother. You have handsomely contracted your journey. I did not think th'adst been so good and Oratou . Then requesting Sir, That you'll presume no more upon the privilege Of that pure love I bear your virtuous Sister to admit a jealousy of any Actium, Or thought of mine which tends not unto nobleness, Next unto her my bosom holds you deer, And shall do ever. Fill some Wine boy: never a Drawer here?